Horseshoes & Hand Grenades
by NotLaura
Summary: Six years in Alexandria, but Daryl still thinks of the prison as home.


Six years in Alexandria, but Daryl still thinks of the prison as home.

He doesn't consider it betrayal, not really. Aaron's the one with the enthusiasm and the smiles, the one who paints the picture of their community for those they deem worthy of such knowledge. Daryl does his part; gruffly assuring people of the safety they can provide but the promises never come from him. Theirs is a partnership that works, however unlikely their friendship may seem. Aaron is open and honest, brave in ways Daryl wasn't entirely prepared for and loyal to a degree that makes him shift uncomfortably if he dwells on it for too long.

He hasn't had this kind of a connection before. It's different from Merle or from Rick, a brotherhood forged on equal footing, without the chasm of the past stretching between them. Out there, beyond the walls, past the safety they provide and with a man at his back he flinches to consider how he would have treated in the old world, Daryl finds something close to peace.

* * *

This trip had been a long one. Seven weeks gone, and nothing to show for the journey other than a few boxes of clothes stuffed in the back of the vehicle they return in. He handles the debrief, sending a relieved Aaron home in search of Eric. No point in delaying their reunion, after so long apart. He'll never pretend to understand their feelings, but love is love and he recognized it in those two the moment he first saw them together.

Besides, it's not as though there's anyone to welcome Daryl back.

After speaking with the council and turning their meager findings into the supply teams, he trudges down the street in the waning light of the evening. He doesn't have a house of his own, has never seen the point when every day spent inside makes his skin itch. Save them for the families, for those who find normalcy in the suburban fantasy. It wasn't his life before; he sees no reason to seek it out after.

Rick always has a place for him, there's always a shower and a pillow and a spot at the dinner table. He supposes he lives there, technically speaking, but it's not as though he leaves anything behind when he heads out. Everything Daryl considers his is in his bag or on his back, or tucked away somewhere deep inside himself.

He nods to Maggie when he passes her, kneeling on her lawn and rolling a ball back and forth with her son. The toddler looks too much like Glenn for Daryl to give him more than a sideways glance, that particular loss still too painful even after more than a year. He'd never say as much out loud, but Glenn's death is heavier than the other losses. Sasha's felt enough like a blessing for the troubled woman and Abraham's was drawn out, so that the end of his suffering was a celebration in a way.

Mourning has never really been Daryl's thing, anyway.

Three more houses down and he wearily climbs the steps, entering into the same living room they'd all spent that first night in. Carl, more man than boy these days, greets him with enough enthusiasm to make Daryl meet his eyes and pause for pleasantries. Rick's out and Judith's with friends, but there's leftovers in the kitchen and Daryl should eat them soon because if he doesn't then Carl is going in for a second helping. He doesn't smile, not really, but his expression tips a little towards contentment as he excuses himself upstairs to toss his things in "his" room and step into the shower.

He's barely been back a few hours and as the water beats down on his shoulders, Daryl already feels the itch to leave start forming.

They don't have plans to go out again anytime soon, Aaron having made it clear that this extended trip warranted an extended stay in Alexandria afterwards. Daryl doesn't begrudge him that, he understands the siren song of home and family and love, however long it's been since he's heard it himself.

He remembers nights in Georgia, swapping watch shifts with Michonne and tracking a madman. They'd had a mission then, however pointless it had turned out to be. Even driven by revenge and justice and fury, the prison had tugged at him, dragged him back until staying there was more important than trailing after a ghost.

Daryl wants that again.

Alexandria won't ever give it to him, though.

* * *

He's been back for three days when she crosses his path.

Even now, with so much distance between them (so much more than he can ever cross), he feels that pull in his chest and alters his direction, falling into step beside her.

"Hey." His voice is rough to his own ears and Carol doesn't respond, only glances at him and nods, as she continues on her way. She's headed to the watchtower, and he walks silently beside her through the streets. It used to be comfortable between them, no trace of this itching and anxiety he feels now. But that was before, that was back at the prison, that was when they were home.

He loved her long before he realized it.

Carol, with her smiles and her support and her wordless understanding of how fucked up he was. Carol, who he'd lost and found, left and returned. His hasn't been a life filled with good things, but for those brief months at the prison, she had been the focal point for every good feeling he had. She'd drawn him closer, felt him out, and brought him comfort and lightness he'd never felt before.

In his darker moments, when the bottom of a bottle is closer than he's used to or sleep scarce enough to wear down his defenses, Daryl admits he took her for granted. She'd still be there when he was ready, he would always come first for her. He nearly took the last step a thousand times. Nearly pressed the final space between them away and nearly laid his heart at her feet.

There were moments in the guard tower, sitting side by side with their legs dangling as they looked out over the fences where his hand had rested close enough to feel the warmth of hers. Smiles she gave him over a meal or touch of his shoulder to hers that skirted closer and closer to that precipice of emotion he knew they both felt.

It was never about rejection. Carol had been nothing but open with her heart, and even in his strongest moments of self doubt Daryl never entertained the idea that she would turn him down. He knew that if he kissed her, she would kiss him back. He knew that if he held her, she would fit in his arms. He knew that when he was ready, she would smile at him and tell him it was about damn time.

What had he been thinking, putting faith in inevitability?

He'd been so wrapped up in waiting for his own readiness, he hadn't seen her slip away.

Too consumed up in his own guilt and grief and failure, he'd taken comfort from her and kept her at arm's length. Maybe if Atlanta had gone differently... maybe if he'd looked to her during those long weeks of travel from Georgia to Virginia... maybe if he'd kept her close and let her in and tried harder.

Maybe if he hadn't taken her for granted, she wouldn't be gone.

Somewhere between the prison and this life, somewhere filled with ghosts of girls they'd failed to save and steps he hadn't been willing to take, somewhere on the road or behind the walls or within their houses, Daryl had allowed Carol to shutter herself inside and cast her heart in ice. He can't pinpoint the moment that things changed, can't tell when the press of her lips on his forehead fell so far into the past that it might as well have been another life. He was gone too much, she had one too many aches in her heart, they had come so close...

Her steps slow as they arrive at her destination and Carol turns, looking at him with a tight smile. "You heading outside?"

He swallows, wishing he could see any trace of who they used to be in her eyes. "Yeah, gonna check the snares."

Her nod is businesslike, and he can tell her mind is elsewhere. There was a time when he would have known where, would have been there with her. A time when they'd been so close to something he still longed for, even years later.

"Be safe," is all she says and there's no real warmth in those words as she turns away again and ducks into the building.

Daryl watches her leave, heaviness and regret spiraling out from his chest and taunting him with his own failure. He'd touched love with his fingertips, but hadn't had the courage to grab on and take it into his life and now he has no idea how to get back to that place. Like the prison, he thinks it's burned away and ruined, another lifetime ago and out of his reach.

He should have told her at the prison. He should have gone to her cell and held her and let her take his heart for safekeeping. Even after, on the road, he should have tried to make her talk about her burdens, instead of letting her shoulder some of his own. She'd drowned beneath the weight of everything and the person who remained wasn't her anymore. Here, behind the walls and within the safety of this community, Carol is lost to him.

At the prison, they could have worked. They would have worked. They'd been so close.

Almost, nearly, inevitable...

He'd been a fucking idiot.

The itch is stronger, now. Under his skin and into his bones and he shifts his crossbow and turns towards the gates. He needs to get back outside, leave this illusion of a home and how it teases him with possibilities he knows aren't really there. He can't reach for her now, there's too much space for him to cross, too many ghosts and missed chances and any fumbling attempt to find what they'd almost had would be a hollow mockery of the way he loved her.

The way he loves her, still.

Close doesn't count, and Carol is just another person he's failed with his own insecurity. This life isn't one for second chances.


End file.
